Snowed In
by KnightFury
Summary: Sussex can be a lonely place in the winter months. Particularly when one finds oneself snowed in, a prisoner in one's own home.


**As I am not going to be able to attend Hades Lord of the Dead's December Calendar Challenge of Awesomeness, this year, I have decided to write just one or two stories. I'm Nova very kindly provided me with the prompt** _ **snowed in**_ **, from which this story has grown. I hope that you find it enjoyable.**

Never have I much liked snow, but I am beginning to discover a new depth of hatred for the stuff. My tobacco ran out yesterday and I smoked my very last cigarette this morning, when I awoke.

My housekeeper has already informed me that she is not going to be able to provide much of a Christmas dinner, tomorrow. Apparently, she has only tins, packets and jars in the cupboards. Frankly, it makes little difference to me whether I dine on goose, partridge or a lump of cheese with two biscuits, but I have thus far refrained from telling her as much.

Humph! The larder might be well enough stocked that we will not starve, but I do not share my housekeeper's habit of planning ahead and I am in desperate need of a smoke. How I wish that I had not been too lazy to visit the tabacconist when I had the chance! I must remember that I once chose to forgo it for the good of a case - I can go without again now; my will is strong. However, this fast, for want of a better word, has been forced upon me and I know not when I might be able to leave the cottage again.

With nothing better to do, I toss another log from my rapidly-dwindling supply (most of the wood is stored in the shed in the back garden) upon the fire and curl myself into my chair beside it with all the rugs that I am able to lay my hands on about me. Even with the fire burning, I feel as if I might freeze to death.

My younger self would never have sat about, waiting to die of cold - no doubt, I would have paced about the room at the very least. These days, however, my rheumatism prevents me from finding the will to do more than to sit down and feel sorry for myself. Dash it all! My younger self would have climbed out of an upstairs window, down the drainpipe and cleared away the snow, rather than remaining imprisoned in my own home. Being old and decrepit is deucedly frustrating!

I am roused from a sleep - into which I never intentionally fell - by the faint sounds of scrapings and voices outside. What ever is going on? I make my way up the stairs and gaze through the window of the front (guest) bedroom.

To my astonishment, I discover that my neighbours are out in force, clearing the snow from my front garden. I make my way back down the stairs, calling to my housekeeper to put the kettle on for tea and to warm and spice some wine.

"Mr. Holmes, we are snowed in," she reminds me.

"Not for very much longer, I believe. I should like to thank our rescuers; do prepare to greet them."

With snow covering the front windows, the sitting room is horribly dark. I return to my fireside chair and curl myself into it with a groan, willing my rescuers to hurry up.

My housekeeper enters the sitting room to observe me with a shake of her head. After a moment, she decides to ascend the stairs and enter the front bedroom, clearly intending to gauge the progress of the men outside for herself.

"They've scarcely got past the gate yet," I am informed, when she returns. "I will make you a cup of tea - you look frozen, sir - and I'll prepare some hot, spiced wine, but it's going to be quite a while before they are able to come inside, to be thanked."

I nod miserably. Clearly, my excitement had quite clouded my judgement.

"You need to occupy yourself with something," the wretched housekeeper suggests.

"What would you have me do?" I growl in response.

She is not like Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson would know precisely what to say to me and would most assuredly not look hurt and walk swiftly away. This woman means well, but she does not know me. Now, I suppose, I shall have to apologise just because I am lonely, cold and miserable. I miss Watson. I miss the London that we knew and fought for together. I even miss the Yarders and Mrs. Hudson. I wish that I had passed on before I had grown old and weary - before I had become a man whom even I can no longer recognise.

For how long the men outside work I know not. It feels like forever! It must feel all the longer to them, working relentlessly in the biting chill.

I must have fallen asleep again. I have not the stamina that I once did. The noises from outside are louder now, and I listen intently. Just as I am contemplating another look out of the upstairs window, the front door opens.

"Holmes? Holmes! Are you all right?"

Could my ears be deceiving me? I leap to my feet at the sound of the last voice that I expected to hear and run into the hall.

"Holmes! It is good to see you," says my dear friend, beaming his familiar smile.

"Watson!" I feel my old heart leap at the sight of him and I joyfully clasp his cold hand. "Take off that wet coat at once. Where are the others? I must thank them for their work. Go and warm yourself in the sitting room - you know the way. Help yourself to the decanters."

My neighbours are quickly called in and presented with hot drinks and food. They then retrieve some more wood from the shed and a small party volunteers to fetch some supplies from the shops in the village. Obviously, I am grateful. All the same, I am glad when everyone is gone and Watson and I are alone.

"I became worried, when there was no word from you," the doctor explains, as we sit together in the sitting room, as if we were once again at Baker Street. "Having discovered that I could not reach you by telephone, I set out on the first train that I could catch. Upon arrival, I saw one of your neighbours and asked whether anyone had seen you. I was not best pleased, as you can imagine, when I was told that you are such a hermit at this time of year that nobody gave any thought to your not having been seen or heard from. Your neighbours then agreed to accompany me, when I went to see that you were all right. Might I suggest, Holmes, that you purchase a red blanket or something and suspend it from the windows, when you are in need of assistance?"

I stare at my dear friend in disbelief. "Do you mean to say that you have been outside all the time that work was being done to free my housekeeper and I?"

He laughs. "I have been in far worse places and in far worse conditions, old fellow."

"Quite so. All the same, I am very much in your debt," I reply, choosing not to point out that he was younger in those days. Without another word, I pour us each a brandy in the hope that a drop might keep my Boswell from catching cold.

"Thank you, Holmes."

I resume my seat opposite him to give the dear chap a smile over my glass. "Will you stay for Christmas?"

He leans back and regards me affectionately. "With pleasure, Holmes."

Good! I should like to know that he is in safe hands, should he be taken ill. How many times has he scolded me for spending so long exposed to the elements? But I shall not give the fellow a row, seeing as he only stayed out there due to concern for me - after all, I have done the same, when the shoe has been on the other foot, and I know that I shall never be able to change.

When tea is served, I note that the housekeeper is in a better mood. No doubt, she is pleased that she is now going to be able to provide a Christmas dinner to fit the occasion (and is gratified to know that it will not be wasted, for Watson has not lost his healthy appetite and I never fail to eat more when I am in his company).

I must confess that I am now looking forward to the Christmas Eve and the following holiday, now that I am no longer to spend it alone.


End file.
